


Ballet Boys Do It Better

by neocitybynight



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan is Whipped, Lee Jeno is Whipped, Love Triangles, badboy!jeno has a lot of inner demons that you help him with, for you my dear, he honestly starts out as a dick so i'm sorry, not at first, you all go to dance school together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24176743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neocitybynight/pseuds/neocitybynight
Summary: Welcome to your life at Nijinsky Ballet Academy, where you've just landed the role of a lifetime as Odette in Swan Lake. Between extra practice sessions with hot ballet bad boy Jeno, managing the fallout from a drunken hookup with your best friend Haechan, and the mounting pressures of attending one of the most prestigious dance schools in the world, you've definitely got your work cut out for you this show season.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Reader, Lee Jeno/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which you score a role and meet your new dance partner.

Some people are addicted to drugs. Others, drinking, sex, porn, whatever, but for you, dancing is your addiction. More specifically ballet - there's nothing more addicting than the feeling of spinning across a stage on your toes, performing gravity-defying leaps and twirls that have the audience gasping, despite having spoken no words. You've never been in love, but you think that warm, glowing rush dance gives you is pretty damn close. 

Which is why you're at Nijinsky Academy, one of the most prestigious dance schools in the world, fighting for the chance to perform in the upcoming production of Swan Lake. The number pinned to your black leotard - 127 - is called, and with one last breath, one last prayer to the ballet gods that be, you walk into the studio. The panel of judges - your teachers Miss Choi, Mr. Yang, Miss Lei - all sit at a severe looking black table in front of the mirrors.

"Good afternoon, please introduce yourself and the piece you will be dancing today," Miss Choi calls out.

Your state your name, class, and then that you'll be dancing Odette's solo. With a nod, the man sitting at the speakers cues up the song. The opening notes sound, and you allow yourself to slip into the zone. It's like falling into a pool of cool water, all conscious thought swept away. As the music swirls around you, you stop thinking, breathing almost, and just become. Lifting onto your toes, you extend your arms out like sails, simulating the graceful flight of a swan's wings. As you dance through each step with precision, you can almost feel the feathers bursting through your back, the soft brush of down against your cheek...

"And stop!" The music cuts out, not even halfway through the song. The judges scribble a few notes on their clipboards. "That will be all, thank you, audition results will be posted tomorrow."

You nod, bowing slightly, and leave the studio, fighting the urge to cry. You knew that auditions would be competitive, but not like this. You've spent so long festering in the _corps de ballet_ , this is your year, your last chance for a lead. If you don't get Odette, you might as well shelve all your pro dancing dreams and pack up your bags now. Tears burning in your eyes, you don't see where you're going and ram straight into someone's chest. A book, a few sheets of paper and some pens go flying, from their erstwhile positions in the person's black Nike shoulder bag. "Omigod, I'm so sorry," you say, dropping to your knees. Embarrassment flashes through you as you scramble to collect the fallen objects. A dog-eared copy of a Sijo poetry book, some vocab sheets from English class, and a few plain ballpoint pens fill your hands. You're not quite sure who you expect the owner to be, but looking up, you find yourself staring at none other than Lee Jeno. 

Barefaced, beautiful, dark hair falling across his forehead, Jeno just glares at you, half-moon eyes cold behind his wire-rimmed specs. He's in the form above you (dance classes are divided by skill, rather than grade level, as you're pretty sure he's around the same age as you) but from what you hear, he's one of the best students Nijinsky has ever seen. He's also known as something of a bad boy, talking to no one in class, and yet somehow everyone knows exactly which clubs he's been to for weekend raves, which latest ballerina he's seduced, the most recent rumor has him hooking up with Miss Pavlova, one of the younger ballet teachers. Your best friend Haechan, who lives in the same dorm as Jeno, has sworn he has a back tattoo 'the size of China and then some,' something that would normally be grounds for expulsion, but since he's the school's prince, he gets away with it.

In essence, Jeno's massively intimidating, and you want to wither under his stare. "Sorry," you say again. With a soft grunt, Jeno just grabs his things out of your hands and pushes past you, black shoulder bag bumping into your side a bit. You glare after him. So not only is he a drinking womanizer, he's an inconsiderate prick too. Good thing you're not in the same class. Wiping your eyes on the back of your hand, you hurry off to the dorm and change for dinner.

"How did auditions go?" Nakyung asks, as you browse the various menu options at the dining hall. You've been friends since being placed in the same dance class first year (you're now the level above her) and in a place as competitive as Nijinsky, friends aren't made lightly. Deciding on a chicken salad, you place everything on your tray and follow Nakyung to the booth you've selected near the window. It's a beautiful day, and you enjoy people-watching, especially since you're right next to the Lee School, one of the city's most prominent acting conservatories, usually attended by child actors who like flexible schedules and an equally prestigious, rich student body. You've seen a few celebrity students passing by, the last being Zhong Chenle, you know, the cute kid from _that show,_ now a tall, slim teen only a few years younger than you who has half the country swooning. 

"Choi cut me off before the halfway mark," you grumble, moodily stabbing a piece of chicken.

"I'm sorry," she says. "You know, that could be good or bad. They usually do that when they've seen what they need to see, so maybe you just had a really killer start?"

"Maybe," you say, though you know she's just being kind. "How did it go for you?"

"Oh, they pretty much told me I'll be a cygnet," she says, shrugging. Small, delicate, and technically skilled while not being outstanding in any particular aspect, Nakyung is perfect for roles like the cygnets or the willis, strictly _corps_ roles that you find stifling. It's not that you turn your nose up at them or anything, but you want to fly to higher heights than most. Unfortunately, that's pretty much how everyone at this school feels.

"That's awesome," you say, taking a sip of banana milk, though it comes out a little gloomier than you'd like.

"Now, that's a fake smile if ever I saw one," a voice drawls. An arm is thrown around you, followed by the solid body of Haechan, nudging you further into the booth with his hip. He and Na Jaemin, one of your other dancer friends, set down their trays on your table. "What happened, Yang bite your head off at auditions?"

"More like Bad Boy Lee bit her head off after auditions," Jaemin says, sliding in next to Nakyung. 

"How did you know about that?"

"Come on, any interaction Jeno has with anyone gets around fast," Jaemin says. "So is this the start to your epic 25-episode drama arc or not?"

You shake your head. "Nana, I think your camera is turning your brains to mush." 

"I'm just calling it like I see it," he says. "I mean, you're practically making the drama face." He pulls out his phone, flipping to a post on @NChatter, your school's notorious gossip Insta. There's a severely unflattering picture of you holding Jeno's book, looking up at him with wide eyes as he glares. 

_"Lowly corps girl bumps into Nijinsky's prince Lee Jeno,"_ Haechan reads. "Scintillating."

"I fucking hate NChatter," you grumble. "Can't the owners get a life?"

"Come on, it's just in good fun," Jaemin says, tossing a grape at you that you catch between your teeth. The taut skin bursts in your mouth, sweetness flooding across your tongue. "This school won't let us leave on the weekends, date, or eat dessert. What else are we supposed to do?"

"Dance?"

Haechan shakes his head. "You're such a hardo. We're going clubbing this weekend, come with us."

"You're sneaking out?" you say, though you're more intrigued than disapproving.

"Yeah, blowing off some steam before rehearsals for Swan start," Jaemin says. "God knows, we're not going to have lives for the next four months."

"Well, those of us with, you know, lives right now," Haechan says, throwing a pointed glance at you. You swat him. You do have a life, not being a party virgin in either sense of the word, but it is true, you do spend a lot of your free time practicing. Surely it couldn't hurt...

You look at Nakyung, who throws pleading eyes at you. You know she's had her eyes on Jaemin for awhile, so you relent. "Fine. But first round's on you, Full Sun."

"Deal." 

The next day, you wake up with a jolt. Today's the day - last night, your heart almost exploded when you saw an email with the subject line 'Swan Lake Cast List' but it turned out to just be a notice saying that audition results would be posted on the door before tomorrow's morning class. Well, today is yesterday's tomorrow, and you waste no time getting ready, flying through your morning routine. You're practically shitting yourself by the time you walk into the dance building. A crowd of dancers gathers around the large double doors, and you have to push through in order to see. Craning your neck, you look at the list.

 **Rothbart** \- Lee Donghyuck

 **Benno -** Na Jaemin

And there, written in bold black print next to Princess Odette, is your name. A giddy wave of triumph slams over you. You've done it. You're officially the lead! Your head is spinning so much, you barely register the name next to Prince Siegfried - Lee Jeno - but you have about two seconds to absorb this fact, when people start realizing you're there. Students start whispering and pointing, and to your slight embarrassment, start clapping.

"Congratulations," a girl says, smiling although she has murder in her eyes. 

"Knew you'd get it," says a freshman whom you've never spoken to.

You smile and blush modestly, but you can't ignore the slight bit of pride you get from people finally noticing your dance ability. A warm feeling fills your chest, and you feel like you're walking on clouds as you enter the studio. The cast is gathered around, and you make a beeline for your friends. 

"Well, if it isn't the Swan Queen herself," Haechan says. "Deigned to hang with us mortals?"

"No, just the biggest cockblock of my cursed existence," you say, referring to his role as Rothbart. "Haechannie, we might hate each other by the end of this."

"I could never," he says, chucking your chin and winking. Nakyung giggles, and you open your mouth to give a clever retort when the director calls everyone in.

"Welcome, all," Ten says. The young Thai dancer's real name is much longer, but despite his meteoric prowess with the Bolshoi and the Royal Ballet, he doesn't really enforce seniority, and that extends to using his nickname. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Mr. Leechaiyapornkul. You-" he points to a young dancer who dared to yawn. "How do you spell that?"

"Uhm...L, e, a.."

"Wrong," Ten says, straight faced, though the rest of you grin. He does this every year, just to mess with the new members, and you know he'll drop the hard front soon enough. While he's known as being the hardest, strictest choreographer, he's super funny and flamboyant in his personal life. "Just for that, you're out. Who's the first understudy?"

The girl stares at him, dumbfounded. "I'm just fucking with you," he says, laughing. "I'm not like those stick-in-the-ass teachers you get in class. I'm Ten, this is Sicheng, we're the director and head choreographer in residence for this show." He points to a slim, handsome guy wearing a grey turtleneck, who waves shyly.

"But, just because I'm nice, doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you," he says. "The spring production is the most competitive show of the year, as this is when most of the scouts from the big companies will be making selections for next year's season. I got into my first company-" the Bolshoi, though he doesn't mention it "-after dancing Franz in Coppelia, Sicheng...well, Sicheng is frankly a god, he got street cast, but the point is, Nijinsky Academy is known for turning out world class dancers, and I won't expect anything less. You got it?"

You all murmur yes.

"YOU GOT IT?"

"Yes!" the cast shouts back.

"Good. Now, those of you wearing pointe shoes, change into flats and head to the barre, we'll be starting with the basics."

You walk over to your bag, shrugging off hoodie and your leg warmers, when you hear the clatter of the door, and in walks Jeno. You blink, marveling at his audacity as he walks over to the row of lockers. Most people would throw a bitch fit at their lead for being late, but Sicheng just claps him on the shoulder, smiling indulgently, whispering something in his ear before pointing towards the barre.

Taking your place beside Nakyung on the female side of the room, you can't help but stare a little. Dropping his bag, Jeno peels off his jacket and sweatpants, revealing a tight black t-shirt and shorts that bring his bulging muscles into sharp relief. Dancers are fit, but he takes that to a whole new level, you realize, eyes skimming over the thighs and arms that look to be carved from marble. His dark eyes flash up to yours, and you feel heat in your cheeks as you look away. _He's a prick_ , you remind yourself. _Probably slept with half the corps by now_. But he really does move well, you think, watching in the mirror as he cycles fluidly through the warmup, muscles sliding under his pale skin, long limbs graceful. 

The two hours of rehearsal fly by. Ten calls a brief huddle, giving you the attendance and conduct spiel as Sicheng hands out paper schedules, then you are dismissed. But as you start unlacing your pointe shoes, pulling on your leg warmers, he calls out: "Can the dancers playing Odette and Siegfried come see me for a second?"

Wondering what he could be talking about, you pull on your sneakers and walk over. "Hi," you say, shaking Ten's hand and telling him your name. You've worked with him before (he's a frequent guest lecturer, and you've done a masterclass or two with him) but that was when you were still in the _corps de ballet_. He wouldn't remember you.

"Ah, our newest Swan Queen," he says, smiling. "I saw your audition tape, good stuff. You're a little rough on spotting certain spins, among other things, but you do have a lot of potential."

Jeno slouches over, and you're a little shocked with how differently he moves when he's not dancing - it's like he isn't inhabiting his own space, only borrowing it with his hunched, shuffling gait, face hidden by round glasses and a black travel mask.

"Jenojam," Ten says affectionately, giving the taller boy a big hug. Surprisingly, Jeno lets him do this. "It's been, what, two years? We played Hilarion and Albrecht in Giselle," he explains to you. "I miss those days. Remember that time we ditched rehearsal with Seulgi and got tteokbokki? You two were so cute, I felt, like, secondhand sadness when you broke up."

Jeno nods, face impassive.

You're not sure which is more surprising - the fact that someone like Ten ever ditched rehearsal, or the fact that Jeno and Seulgi were once an item. It's not uncommon for people to date secretly, despite the academy's strict no-dating rules, but from what you know of Seulgi, she seems like Jeno's polar opposite. Before graduating last year, she was also your biggest dance rival, which is probably why your stomach twinges uncomfortably at her mention.

"Well, you're looking good, J-man, I heard you had some interest from the Korean National Ballet Company, huh? And Paris Opera, New York Ballet...you're really the talk of the scouts right now."

Jeno shrugs. You want to slap that calm, bored expression right off his face - how dare he look so nonchalant, when most people would cut off their toes and a few fingers for the chance to be courted like that?

"Well, I think we're going to have no shortage of talent for this show," Ten says. "But, that being said, you two are going to have your work cut out for you. Not only do you have one of the hardest _pas de deux_ in ballet, you have to dance two separate relationships - Siegfried with Odette and Odile. You have to really know each other's bodies well, and how you respond to each other when you dance, so I've booked extra practice sessions for you two to get acquainted with each other's styles more intimately. It's nothing big, just once a week."

Ten hands you two sheets of paper with the day's choreography notes. "Your first session is right now. I'll leave you to it, let me know if you have any questions." 

With that, he heads over to Sicheng and the two exit the studio together, leaving you and Jeno alone. You hand Jeno his sheet, and notice that he looks about as enthusiastic as you feel. This is just want you wanted, more quality time with the stuck up sourpuss himself. But if this is what helps push your performance over the edge, then you'll do it.

"Fuck," you moan. An hour in, and you're still struggling. The scene you worked on today is where Siegfried and Odette meet for the first time, and there's an intricate spinning sequence where he keeps reaching for you, but you rotate just out of his grasp. Bourrees are not your strength, and for what feels like the thousandth time, you've backed into Jeno. Wiping the sweat off your forehead, you come down off your aching toes and make for your water bottle, taking a few welcome gulps.

Jeno already seems to have his part down (though he has the easier steps, in your opinion) and has stayed quiet throughout all this, but now, finally speaks up. "I'm sorry, but how did you manage to get cast as Odette?"

"Excuse me?" you sputter.

"Your pointe technique is mediocre at best, and you keep losing focus for these simple steps," he says, matter-of-factly. "So, really, who did you have to blow to get the lead?"

"Are you serious?" you say. "You don't even know me and you're implying-"

"I'm going to have bruises from you hitting me with your sloppy technique."

"And my toes are permanently bruised and damaged from years of hard work and dedication," you say. "Which is more than I can say for some."

"Really? That's rich coming from someone who doesn't have the most basic steps down in two practice sessions," he says. The most annoying thing is, while you're red-faced and practically spitting, Jeno is completely calm. "Oh, come on, don't give me that look. Seulgi and I practiced extra during Giselle because she couldn't get the lifts in the _pas the deux_ down. Ten is doing this because he thinks you need more practice, and after watching you dance today, I would agree."

A hot wave of anger splashes through you. "Are you fucking kidding me?" you hiss, striding forward and poking a finger into his chest. "I did not fly half way around the world and give up everything - my friends, family, a normal high school education - to have entitled, egotistical ballet boys like you saying whatever the hell you want. If you can't handle dancing with someone who's not your precious Seulgi, or one of those other stupid _corps_ girls you've slept with, you can go and tell Ten that yourself. But I'm not going to let you and whatever chip you have on your shoulder about working with me mess this opportunity up for me. Because unlike you, I don't have a million dance companies knocking on my door, I actually have to work for every role I get."

Jeno's eyes go wide, and it's only then that you realize that in your anger, you've backed him into the barre. Your hand presses into his chest, hard, and you're glaring up at him with a ferocity even you didn't know you possessed. Jeno looks down at you, flicking down to where your hand is splayed across his broad chest, something akin to shock and maybe a bit of admiration in his eyes, but he quickly schools his face back into cool disinterest. Stepping to the side, he neatly extricates himself from you, leaving you with your hand out, glaring stupidly at nothing. As you watch in the mirror, breathing hard, he walks to his bag and pulls out his jacket and a travel mask. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he walks back over, coming to stand behind you, eyes meeting yours in the mirror, so close you can feel his breath ruffling your hair. 

"Two things. Firstly, you are wildly under qualified for this role. If I were you, I'd drop out right now and save yourself the embarrassment. But since you're a stubborn, role-hungry sheep like all the other people at this school, I know you won't."

Jeno leans in, so close that his lips are nearly brushing your ear. In your angry, adrenaline high state, it's nearly a lover's touch. Except you shouldn't feel like a million fire ants are marching across your body at the sound of a lover's voice, or want to slap the annoying calm look off their handsome face. "You know nothing about what I've done to get here, and frankly, I don't care how many dicks you've sucked or how many hours you spent breaking that pretty little body at the barre to get this role."

At the word _break_ , his hand clenches down on the soft pinewood, trapping you. "So don't you dare presume to know anything about me, my professional or personal life. I will practice with you for the sake of the show, but don't mistake this for anything else. You're nothing more than a pretty face playing around in pointe shoes, and if the school doesn't know that already, they're even more stupid than I thought."

And with that, he exits, leaving you alone in a shocked, heated silence. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaemin is sweet and Haechan gives you more than just food for thought.

"I'm literally going to off myself," you moan. Leaning backwards so that just your torso is hanging off the couch, the ends of your hair brushing the ground, you stretch out. It's been five days since your first practice session with Jeno, and you hurt. You've thrown yourself into learning the steps perfectly, and it's paid off - you can now do the bourree perfectly by yourself at least. But you're tired and in desperate need of some TLC and human interaction, which is why you find yourself hanging off the couch in the boy's suite common room.

"I'll go to the funeral if there's cake," Haechan calls from the kitchenette, where he's busy stirring a pot of ramyeon.

"Real supportive," Jaemin says, throwing himself on the couch beside you. Reaching forward, he grabs the Apple TV remote, while scratching your aching head with his other hand. "I got you."

"Love you, Nana," you say, flipping up so that you lie across his lap. The soft, comforting scent of his sweatpants' fabric softener wreathes around you, and you wriggle around, getting comfortable. "Keep doing that."

With a laugh, Jaemin continues stroking your hair. "Haechan, this is why you're still single. You don't do shit like this. You're lucky I'm not dating her, I'd ruin her for all other men."

"Excuse me, what am I doing right now?" Haechan says. "I'm cooking ramyeon. Massages are all nice and good, but they're not very tasty."

"I don't know, he's pretty yummy," you say, giggling. You and Jaemin have been friends for so long, it's really gone beyond the point of anything romantic happening, so you always joke like this. That, and it always seems to annoy Haechan, who, much like his sunny namesake, seems to think all his friends should rotate around him. "Speaking of, when are you going to ask Nakyung out?"

"Hey." Jaemin thunks you lightly on the forehead. "I thought we talked about this. Me and Nakyung? Not going to happen."

"Why not?" you say, sitting up. "You're both cute, funny, good dancers. I know you think she's pretty, so why wouldn't you?"

"Because I'm pretty sure she's into commitment, and I'm not sure if I am," Jaemin says. "Don't give me that look. What about you and Hyunjin? Or Bomin, Hakmin, Han..."

From the kitchen you hear a derisive snort.

"All of those guys are in the past, and every time, we knew exactly what we were getting into," you say, ignoring Haechan. "But I'm considering turning over a new leaf this semester. Don't you ever get tired of meaningless sex?"

"Nope," Jaemin says, popping the p. Pointing the remote over your head, he queues up an episode of some Netflix drama. "Besides, she's too smart. There's no way she'd like someone like me."

Your heart twinges a little - under all the smiles and jokes, Jaemin really is a good guy, but he never seems to think so. You happen to think that dating down-to-earth Nakyung would be just what he needs, but once Jaemin makes up his mind, there's no changing it, so you drop it.

"Is that My Love from the Star?" The boy's other roommates, Yangyang and Hendery, drift in, bringing with them the scent of outdoors and something spicy, maybe hotpot.

"It's Meteor Garden," Jaemin says. "Just for you two."

"Is that just 'cause we're Chinese?" Yangyang yawns. "So considerate. But you've still got the subs on, doesn't count."

"Gǔn dàn," Jaemin says, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Yangie, why did you teach him swears?" Hendery groans, throwing himself onto the other couch.

"I didn't, that one he learned all on his own," the other boy says, choosing a beanbag on your other side. "Hey, by the way. Good to know Swan Lake hasn't completely eaten you up yet." He directs this at you. With the amount of time you spend in Jaemin and Haechan's suite, you've come to be friendly, if not friends, with their other suitemates. 

Haechan walks in, throwing his hands up. "Are you all hungry? I was only cooking enough for the three of us."

"We're fine, we just got back from hotpot with Xiaojun," Hendery says, referring to their friend from Bjorling, the neighboring music school. "We were planning on watching Parasite, but then someone decided to put on a stupid drama."

"Hey," you say. "Don't even. Dylan Wang's face is magnificent. Even manly men like you have to acknowledge that."

"Pineapple head," Yangyang grumbles.

 _"I'm much better looking than Wang,"_ Hendery grumbles in Mandarin. 

"Okay, Donkey."

"Hey, even Donkey gets some," he says. "Is that like a metaphor? Were the Shrek creators really into noonas?"

"If they are, that's an age and size kink to the max," you say. "She's a dragon, so probably thousands of years old. Plus she could kill Donkey by just sitting on him."

"She probably had to," Yangyang pipes up. "I mean, like, how would sex work between them?" He tries to mime it with his hands, but Hendery slaps them down.

"Just ask Haechan," Jaemin says. "Weren't you with that tall girl last week? Tzuyu?"

"We're the same height," Haechan says, bringing in a tray with three steaming bowls of ramyeon and banana milk, your favorite. Sitting down on your other side, he sets down the food on the small coffee table.

"No, you tell people you're 5'9" and you're lying," you say. "Come on, whenever a guy tells you his height, you have to take off at least one inch. Two if they've got a big ego."

"Who has an ego?" Haechan protests.

"Oh, come on, I know how mad you were you didn't get Siegfried," you tease, putting on an aegyo voice. "Oh, I'm lead dancer Haechannie, I got the coolest role in the show instead of the leading man. Siegfried's such a simp, you really didn't draw the short straw."

"But he has way more interesting parts," Haechan whines. "Rothbart just flaps around. Plus, I don't get to a dance with you. Didn't we promise we'd save our first _pas de deux_ for each other?"

"Oh, you've been keeping yourself pure for me this whole time?" you say, laughing wickedly as you take a bit of ramyeon. It's good, just the right amount of spice, despite the fact that Haechan claims he can't cook. "Sorry, but that ship has sailed. Remember when I did the Manon finale last year with Brendon?"

"That was for a showcase, doesn't count," he says. "I think it's you who have been keeping pure for me all these years. Is that why you waited until this year to get a lead?"

Your jaw drops open in mock rage. You and Haechan tend to have the same problem (you with Seulgi, him with Jeno), in that you're always pretty much the second string for leads. It's become a running joke between you. "Take that back," you shriek, reaching across Jaemin for a throw pillow and beaning Haechan in the face.

Haechan just laughs as you dive at him, scrambling for your wrists, finally succeeding in grabbing them in one hand while chucking the pillow across the room. "Stop, don't spill the ramyeon," he says. "I worked hard on that."

"Instant ramyeon, what a treat," you say, trying and failing to wrench your wrists away. He holds fast, and you twist like a hooked fish in his arms as he cackles.

"Guys, shut up, I think Shancai's about to break up with him again," Yangyang says.

"That happens every other episode," you say, panting from the effort of wrestling. Haechan raises an eyebrow and you still, so he releases you warily. Grabbing the banana milk box off the tray, you take a large gulp.

"She needs to make up her mind," Haechan says. "She's obviously into him, and they're both single. What's stopping them?"

"Lei, for one thing," you say. "And his mom, their social status, the fact that he's an entitled dick to her half the time."

"Lei's so inferior," he says. "Look, Si literally bends over backwards for her and she throws it in his face for the boring mysterious damaged guy."

"Talking from experience?" you say. It's meant as a joke, but Haechan sobers up immediately, looking almost downright panicked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know, stuff with like you and Tzuyu," you say, surprised at his reaction. "Or Eunbin, I don't know. Whoever you're dating these days."

Haechan visibly relaxes, though you can't fathom why. He's never showed interest in sticking around with any of these girls, you can't imagine any of them have broken through his thick player's skin. "I don't know, I just thinks she needs to be more decisive. She's blowing off Si for Lei, but Lei isn't even emotionally available."

"And I suppose you are?"

"I would be, for the right person," he says, so soft you almost miss it.

"Oh, God, I think Haechannie's whipped," you say dramatically.

Jaemin shoots you a sidelong glance. "You just realized?"

You look at Haechan, who's now looking at you with a rather unreadable expression. Maybe you teased him too much. You reach forward and ruffle his hair. "Well, I'm sure you'll make someone very happy," you say, truthfully. Under all his annoying posturing, Haechan can be really considerate if he wants to be. And he's funny as hell, good looking, a great dancer. Years ago, when you first came to Nijinsky, before you were so close, you nursed a bit of a crush on him, and wondered if he might feel the same way. But then you both started hooking up with other people, and it's really just never come up.

You watch in silence after that, the only sound is slurping noodles and the crunch of the shrimp chips Yangyang grabbed at one point. After three episodes, you're full and yawning. "Well, boys, I think I'm gonna head home," you say, standing up and stretching.

"No, don't go," Jaemin says dramatically, grabbing your wrist. "Shancai, I love you."

"Daoming Si," you cry, falling to your knees, cupping Jaemin's face between your hands. "I love you. But, no, I hate you. But I love you while I hate you, what do I doooo?"

"Get a room," Haechan grumbles, grabbing the now-empty ramyeon bowls and chopsticks. 

"Shancai," Yangyang cries. "I, Huaze Lei, love you too...but I love Jing. Don't date that pineapple head, fix me."

"Si, Lei, come here," you say, pulling both of them close. Yangyang laughs like a maniac, while Jaemin nuzzles softly into your neck, giggling. "I'll just take you both."

Hendery pretends to retch, laughing. You hear a clatter, and look towards the kitchenette. Through the tears of laughter in your eyes, you see Haechan standing, straight-backed, at the sink, holding the remains of a porcelain bowl.

"Haechan, Jesus," you say, rushing to his side. He just looks down at his hand, bloody red spider webs already beginning to bloom across his skin. "Guys, where do you keep your med kit?"

"In the bathroom," Jaemin calls back. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a little scratch," you say. You grab Haechan's arm and frogmarch him into the bathroom. Turning the tap on, you force his hands under the water, running it under his hands are clean, and the water is clear. Grabbing a tube of Neosporin and some butterfly bandages, you push him onto the toilet lid and start rubbing the disinfectant into his cuts.

"You don't have to do that," he says quietly, though he makes no move to stop you.

"Yes, I do," you say fiercely. "If I didn't take care of you guys, you would all fall apart."

Haechan makes a face.

"What, you don't believe that? Come on, I've always been the levelheaded one," you say. "I made sure we all ate, slept enough, kept our studies up so we could be in the spring shows. You would be complete crackheads without me. Usually are, when I'm not around."

"Do you ever get tired of it?" Haechan bursts out. In the process of unwrapping one of the bandaids, you look down at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically serious, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

"Of what?"

He shakes his head, hands tightening on yours almost unconsciously. "I don't know. Fucking around, being crackheads. What you were saying to Jaemin about settling down. I don't know, it just reminded me...I mean, we're getting older. We're going to have to stop this at some point, right?"

He says this so seriously, no hint of sarcasm or bite, which is surprising."If there's one thing I've learned," you say. "It's that people like us have to live in the here and now. You could fall tomorrow and break your femur, and never dance again. But does that mean you shouldn't dance today, just because you might not be able to tomorrow?"

Haechan looks up at you, dark eyes burning and soft. "You're right," he says. "But what if I feel like I don't want to anymore?"

You raise an eyebrow. Haechan's never like this, and to see him so vulnerable, you feel like tiny spiders are marching across your skin. Your first deflection? Humor. "Haechan, you're scaring me. You're not thinking of doing anything stupid, right? Oh, God, you didn't get someone pregnant, did you? Is that what this is about? Are you going to drop out of school and get a job at Walmart and start-"

"Hey, are you two done yet?" a loud knock sounds on the door, accompanied by Yangyang's voice. 

"Dude, don't interrupt them," Hendery says. 

"You're just saying that because you bet that they were doing stuff," Yangyang says. "If you're going to fuck, for the love of God, don't do it in there."

Smoothing on the last bandaid, you stand up, laughing. "I really hate our friends sometimes."

Haechan just nods, looking distant. 

"Hey, if you ever have anything you need to get off your chest, you know I'm here, right?" you say. "You're one of my best friends. If you're hurting, I want to know."

Haechan looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Be careful, I may just call that in one day."

"I wouldn't expect anything else," you say. "Now come on, I need to set Yangyang straight so Hendery doesn't lose money."

With a last smile, you leave the bathroom. Haechan doesn't immediately come after you, instead electing to watch your retreating form for a few moments before following you back into the common room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a ridiculously tight dress, a body shot, and an annoying dance partner lead to a mind-blowing orgasm in a club bathroom.

"I'm not wearing this," you protest. Nakyung just laughs, shoving the dress at you. "This is some hoe shit."

"Come on," she says. "This is, like, the last time you're actually going to see cute guys before rehearsals start. Don't be such a priss."

"Am not."

"Then put that on and let me do your makeup."

Sighing, you step out of your sweats and into the dress she's handed you. It's short, made of red velvet, hugging your body like a second skin. The back is open, with intricate x-shaped latticework crawling up to where it ties at the base of your neck. 

"Fuck," she says. "Save a bit of leg for the rest of us, huh?"

You shake your head. "I'm not going to hook up tonight. That's all on you and Jaemin."

"You really think he'd want to?" she says, grabbing a brush and starting work on your eyes.

"You're a literal idiot," you say, closing your eyes as she brushes glitter, onto your eyelids. "Nana is so whipped for you."

"I don't know, looking at the girls he usually hooks up with, I don't think he'd want me," she says. "I'm a little too booksmart. And not blonde."

You bite your tongue, desperately wanting to tell her that Jaemin pretty much said the reverse, but respecting each of your friends' privacy enough to just hint. "Whatever, you two are just going to deflect and pine for each other forever then. Y'all are so stubborn."

"Yeah, and what about you and Haechan?" she says, grabbing a sheet of body rhinestones and starting on a Euphoria-type crystal design. 

"No way," you say. "Haechan hits on anything that moves. He doesn't date."

"Exactly. He doesn't date, and also hates every person you've ever been with," Nakyung says. "Seems like someone's saving himself for when a certain someone pulls their head out of their ass..."

You laugh. "Come on, he's hot, but I haven't liked him since, like, first year. We know way too much about each other now."

"If you say so." Nakyung finishes up your look with a coat of clear, cherry-stained gloss, then moves to make herself up.

Twenty minutes later, you're both perfumed, glittery, and ready to go. Haechan has texted you the directions to the club, which isn't a far walk from campus, but you have to be discreet. While going out on the weekends isn't illegal, the school frowns on any activities that could be construed as licentious. Frowns on as in kicking you out of shows or docking grades severely for things like dating and partying.

Grabbing your jackets, you head out. It's early spring, that intermediate time when it's neither warm nor cold, just _weather_. Nijinsky doesn't have a campus per se, moreso a series of buildings set at the apex of two city streets, so you don't have much trouble blending with the foot traffic on the way to the club. Before long, you find yourself at the velvet ropes in front of a tall building with a neon sign reading 'The Puzzle Piece.' Haechan, Jaemin, Yangyang and Hendery are already in line, along with two boys and a girl you don't know.

"My girls," Jaemin calls out, throwing an arm around both of you. You can smell liquor on him, probably whisky. Nakyung blushes a bit, but allows the contact.

"Are we pregaming?" you say, wrinkling your nose.

"Just Nana," Yangyang says. "The rest of us are smart enough not to show up hammered."

"I'm not hammered," Jaemin protests. "Though if anyone's looking to get nailed tonight..."

You chuckle, extricating yourself from his grasp and turning to the others in an effort to leave Jaemin and Nakyung with a moment to talk. "Hey, I don't think I've met you yet."

"Oh, yeah," Hendery says. He tells them your name, then points around. "This is Xiaojun, Lucas, and Heejin. Everyone's from Bjorling, except for Lucas."

"Lucas is determined to be the first Chinese EGOT winner," Xiaojun explains. "He went to Bjorling with us freshman year for music, but transferred to Lee so he could, what did you say?"

"Follow my dreams," Lucas says cheerfully. "You gotta dream, man!"

His energy is infectious, and he soon has everyone in the small group laughing as he tells the story of his Spring Awakening wardrobe mishaps. "-cause, you know, I have to show my bare ass and all," he says, gesturing with his big hands. The line moves forward slightly as he speaks. "And, you know, it's a sex scene, and we always got super into it. So we're, like, making out, tearing each other's clothes, and then she goes to push my pants down, and, well..." he raises an eyebrow for dramatic effect.

You're saved from having to hear the rest of the gory details as you reach the front of the line. The bouncer takes your IDs, checking them one by one with a black light, then waves you all in. The Puzzle Piece is a behemoth of a club, three tiered levels with glass floors, each with a different theme. The ground floor is a pool (you shudder at what might be swimming in the water), the second is a more traditional neon dancefloor, and the third is a rooftop bar. At Xiaojun's suggestion (he knows a promoter) you head to the second floor.

Upstairs, it's a pulsing, neon sprawl. The dance floor is packed with pretty young people, just as busy as the black velvet couches lining the room and the gleaming chrome bar. Xiaojun's promoter came through, as there's a private booth with his name marked on it. True to their word, Haechan and Jaemin scuttle off to buy the first round of shots. "Are you sure Jaemin needs more to drink?" you say, nudging an elbow into Yangyang's side.

"I'm sure he doesn't, but you know how he gets," he says. "I'd be more afraid of his whisky dick than anything."

"Why, you thinking of jumping him tonight?"

"No, but I think we both know what needs to happen," he says, inclining his chin towards Nakyung.

"You're on," you say, popping a lime wedge in your mouth. You've finished about three by the time the boys return, and soon enough, you've slammed down an equitable amount of tequila. 

"Hey, might want to slow down," Haechan says, with some amusement.

"Nonsense," you say. "This is our last ride, remember? We'll be in the basement for the next four months."

"Okay, but if you wind up yakking, don't do it on me? I just got this shirt dry cleaned."

"I will be so good, Full Sun," you say, patting his shoulder. Looking over to where Nakyung sits, squished in between Jaemin and Hendery, you decide to up the ante. 

"My fellow compatriots," you say, tapping a shot glass against the table. Everyone looks up. "As you know, this is something of a last run for all of us Nijinsky kids, before we get shut away in the dance dungeon. In the spirit of celebration, I want to propose a game."

"Yeah?"

"Truth or Dare," you say. "It may be juvenile, but we're people of action. Artists in the rough. We learn by doing."

"I agree, but with one rule change," Yangyang says. "If you don't want to answer a question, you have to do a dare that we select for you."

Everyone murmurs in assent. "And so mote it be," you say dramatically. "Who's up first?"

Xiaojun ends up going first, his dare being to order a Screaming Orgasm from the cute bartender. You're all sure he's going to falter, but after a few painful minutes of watching him try to get the bartender's attention, he comes back, redfaced, clutching a tall frothy drink topped with two cherries. "I hate you all."

The game goes fast and furiously after that, circling around several times until it comes to Yangyang. "Jaemin. Truth or dare?"

Jaemin leans back against the booth, eyes slitted lazily. "Truth."

"Boooring," Yangyang pouts. "Okay, if you had to date someone at this table, who would it be? Notice I said person, not girl, feel free to pick me, my ego needs stroking."

Jaemin rolls his eyes. "This is stupid. I'm not fucking answering that."

"Well, then, let's think of a nice dare for our dear Nana," Yangyang says. Catching your eye, he winks. "Do a body shot off the collarbones of a girl of your choice."

Everyone at the table hoots. You shoot a glance at Nakyung, who looks stricken, and you try to smile at her without being too obvious. Jaemin sighs. "I suppose you people will never let me win." Looking around the table, his eyes come to rest on you and he smiles devilishly, crooking one finger. "Get over here."

Panic flashes through your chest. "Really, Nana, me? That's such a cop out." You make a face at him like, _come on, who's sitting to your right?_

But Jaemin shakes his head. "You've got the best collarbones, and if I'm doing body shots, I really don't want to remember this tomorrow."

You turn to Yangyang, eyes pleading. "Sorry," he says, equally helpless. "His choice."

"This is stupid, I'm not doing it," you say.

"Isn't this your game?" Hendery speaks up. 

"Yeah, come on, it's just a dare," Lucas adds. 

"Fine," you say, if only to shut them up. You walk to the other side of the booth, and to your chagrin, Jaemin pats his lap. "Come here, darling," he says, waggling his eyebrows. All the guys at the table ooh, egging him on. You can feel Nakyung's stare boring into your back, but what else can you do? Drunk logic really isn't allowing you to come up with an alternate solution. 

Whispering a silent apology to your best friend, you perch gingerly on the edge of Jaemin's lap. His hand comes around to rest on your waist, making sure you don't fall, a surprisingly tender gesture. But that's Jaemin for you. As extra as he can be, he'd never intentionally steer you wrong. But why is he intentionally being so stubborn right now? Yangyang stands, pouring tequila into the hollow of your collarbone, before grabbing the table salt shaker and placing a delicate line on your shoulder. With an apologetic expression, he places a lime in your mouth, flesh side out.

Jaemin turns you to face him, and due to your size difference, you're pretty much on a level. _Goddamn it, Jaemin_ , you think, as he grins wickedly at you, then leans down. Slowly, too slowly, he licks up the line of your neck and places his lips on the hollow of your collarbone, gathering up the tequila with a soft sucking motion. Placing a gentle hand on your cheekbone, he leans forward and nips the lime out of your mouth. Your lips just barely touch, and when he pulls back, there's a smudge of your lipstick on his triumphant mouth.

Hendery, Xiaojun, and Lucas hoot loudly, clapping Jaemin on the back, but everyone else is silent. Your eyes dart around the table, from the Chinese trio's faces of hilarity, Heejin's slight confusion, Nakyung's crestfallen expression, and to Haechan, who, as per usual, looks bored, though you don't miss the agitation of his fingers as they shred a napkin.

Jaemin pops the stripped lime out of his mouth, a cat's smile playing across his lips. "Delicious."

Nakyung makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and stands up suddenly. "Bathroom," she mumbles, and nearly runs away from the table.

"Mother-" you round on Jaemin and Yangyang. "You just had to go there, didn't you?"

"What? I tried to help," Yangyang protests.

"Not you," you hiss. "Jaemin, really? After everything I said."

"Oh, give me a break," he says. "We've been best friends for years, and I knew she was way too shy to let me do it on her, where's the hurt?"

"The hurt is that she's my best friend, dipshit, and she just had to watch the guy she likes basically give me a hickey!"

"Calm down, I didn't leave a bruise," Jaemin drawls. "I knew what I was doing. Jealousy works wonders. She'll come snapping back to me like a rubber band, you'll see."

"The hell she will," you say. "Jaemin, I love you, but messing with my friends crosses the line, okay?"

"Sorry," he says, though he doesn't particularly sound it. "How should I make it up to her?"

"Go find her and apologize," you say.

"For what?"

"Jesus, I hate boys," you grumble. "At the very least, go ask her to dance. I'm going to get a drink, and when I get back, you'd better not be here. Capiche?"

Jaemin nods, though he looks more amused than abashed. Cursing the male species, especially the twenty-year-old variety, you stand up and head to the bar.

The bartender is off talking to a group of giggling sorority-looking blonde girls, and you sigh as you tap your fingers on the crystal tabletop. After what feels like eons, he's walking back over to your end. You open your mouth to order.

"Two gin and tonics, easy on the gin for her," says a deep voice. Turning around, you are met by the glorious sight of Lee Jeno in formalwear. Gone are the travel mask and sweatpants, replaced instead by slim black jeans and a dark button-down, opened to reveal the pale skin of his throat. His dark hair is tousled just artfully enough for it to be styling, and in the absence of his glasses, you can finally take in the full effect of those dark half moon eyes. You'd be lying if you said that he wasn't incredibly hot, but you firmly squash any butterflies that arise at the sight of your dance partner.

"Bold of you to assume you know what I like," you say.

"Call it a hunch," he says. "Come on. You're not girly enough to want a cocktail, but you're also not hard-edged enough to shoot whiskey with the boys. Shots aren't meant for conversations, and I don't know a single Gen-Z alive who would choose beer over liquor, especially not at a club. Ergo..." The bartender returns, placing the tumblers in front of you. Against your protests, Jeno hands him a bill, waving for him to keep the change.

"I might not be able to dance at your standards, but ordering drinks is something I think I can do on my own," you say coolly.

He shrugs. "Consider it payment for a good show."

You flush darkly. "You saw all that?"

"That, and the way your - friend, I presume? - looked when he did the shot and stormed away crying after," Jeno says, dark amusement dancing across his lips. "You really are something, aren't you?"

"And what's that supposed to mean?

Jeno drains the glass, and you watch the liquid run down his throat with a certain level of gross admiration. Placing the empty tumbler back on the bar, he waves to the bartender for another. "I think I may have been wrong about you."

"How so?"

"Well, I initially assumed you were just another one of those flower girls from the _corps de ballet_ ," he says. "A sheep, in earthier terms. That's most people at this school, you know, all just following the rules and standing in line in hopes that they'll be one of the lucky ones, snapped up for some bit part in a national show. But you..." his eyes flick over your body, lingering on the ghost of salt on your collarbone. Heat shoots through you, and you glare, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're pure wolf. You'll do what you need to in order to get to the top. I saw the studio log for this week - you've spent more time in there than anyone else. Whether it's spending hours at the barre to perfect your form or using Na to keep that friend of yours at your side, you'll do whatever it takes to get what you want."

His words cut into you like knives. _That's not true_ , you want to scream, but stripped down to their barebones, do his words ring kind of true? You've always considered yourself a go-getter, but manipulative? "So you've insulted my dancing, mansplained my drink preferences, and called me manipulative. What do you want from me, Lee?"

"You're not a great dancer," he says bluntly. "No, that's not true. You're good when you're not in your own head, but that's almost always. But greatness? That comes from genuine, raw emotion and the only times I've seen that displayed are when you screamed at me and told off Jaemin just now."

He leans closer to you, dark eyes burning into you. "You're about to undertake the one of the hardest role dualities in ballet - the purity and grace of Odette, you can learn that. But Odile? She's a dark mirror image, she uses every fiber of her being to seduce the prince. I'm just curious to see how you'll manage to pack your own dualities into all of that, once you recognize that side of yourself. It won't come from being a sheep, I can tell you that."

Anger crackles through you. Draining your glass, you draw yourself up to your fullest height. "You know, I've heard a lot about you, Jeno, but being a presumptuous emo dick wasn't one of them," you say. "You want wolf? I'll show you wolf."

Spinning on your heel, you stride back to the booth. Jaemin is gone, as is everyone but Haechan. "Hey," he says. "Everyone went off to dance, I don't know where-"

You cut him off as you grab his face and smash your lips together. Haechan stills, hands pressing into your shoulders, and you can feel the indecision in his hands, whether he's going to push you away or not. But then he makes a noise in the back of his throat, kissing you back with a hard, almost painful heat. You push him further into the shadowy booth, legs coming to rest on either side of his hips, grinning as Haechan moans against your lips, hands falling to brace on your thighs. He pulls you closer against him, so close you can feel the wild fluttering of his heartbeat, the whisper of his soft sighs as you grind your body against his. Your tongue darts out, tangling with his, and he groans, hands tangling in the ends of your hair as he desperately licks the inside of your mouth. Undulating your body against his, you can feel how turned on he is, from the slight tremble in his limbs to the fast-growing bulge in his pants. Nipping at his bottom lip, you luxuriate in the power that you'd nearly forgotten about. Simple mechanisms, men's bodies, you think, as Haechan gasps at the slight pain, hands tightening on the bare skin of your thighs. You thread your hands into his hair, tugging slightly, and with a gasp, he cants his head back against the soft leather of the booth. Dropping your head to his throat, you begin to kiss the golden skin softly, though not hard enough to leave marks.

"Wait, wait," Haechan says breathlessly. You pull back to look at him, pleased with how undone he looks, hair disheveled, lips swollen from your kisses. "Is this about Jaemin?"

"What about him?"

"Do you have feelings for him?" Haechan asks, holding your hips a little bit away from him.

"No, I don't," you say. "I spent the whole night trying to set him and Nakyung up, and he fucked it up. But can we not talk right now?"

Haechan looks at you, really looks, and for a moment you think he's going to say no. His hands cups your cheek, stroking softly. "I...I mean what I said, the other day," he says. "About being open with the right person." They're simple words, but they give you pause. Suddenly, everything's falling into place. Why Haechan has always been so protective of you, the way he was so weird with you and Jaemin yesterday, the things he said in the bathroom. Haechan, your best friend, your first crush at Nijinsky, the constant loving annoyance in your life, has feelings for you. 

Your mind is swirling, your head buzzing, your body still singing with the thrill of his touch. You liked Haechan all those years go, but this, what you're doing is an astronomically bad idea considering how close you've become since then, and that's probably why he's pulling away like this. Maybe you should too. Then, over his shoulder, you see a flash of dark hair. Jeno is standing at the bar, facing you, while some leggy blonde hits on him. As you watch, his eyes flick over to you. Looking slightly amused, he takes a sip from yet another G&T, stooping to whisper something in the blonde's ear, and it's clear that he's been party to much of your "performance."

For some reason, the sight of his calm indifference sends spikes of anger through your body. The hurt, the confusion, the alcohol, the heat of Haechan's hands on your thighs all alchemizes into you just wanting a distraction. What you do next almost feels like the actions of a stranger, like you're watching someone control your body. It certainly isn't your voice that comes out, sultry and low, or your hand that runs down Haechan's chest, the backs of your nails ghosting across the silky fabric covering his abs. "I'm way to drunk to make promises about tomorrow," you say. "But, if you wanted to go somewhere more quiet now..."

Haechan nods slowly. Grabbing his hand, you lead him towards the back, where neon signs point you to the bathroom. Luckily, they're the gender-neutral, single-stall type, so you just pick the first vacant one and push him in. Sliding backwards onto the sink, you draw Haechan towards you. He stands between your legs, hands drawing your thighs on either side of hips. You give a little sigh as he bucks slightly at the contact, the only thing between you being his slacks and the thin material of your panties. Winding your arms around his neck, you kiss him again. This one is slower, deeper, an exploration rather than an attack. He sucks lightly on your bottom lip, testing your reaction, and is pleased at the gasp it draws from your lips. His hands wander across your body, pressing into the bare skin of your back, scraping down lightly, squeezing your waist. As you continue to kiss, your heels dig into the backs of his thighs as you grind against him, looking for some friction. Haechan moans as the action throws you more flush against him. 

His hand runs slowly up your thigh, pushing under the hem of your dress. His fingers toy with the lace of your panties, and at your soft moan of encouragement, his fingers dip beneath, brushing against your rapidly pooling heat. "God, you're so wet," he whispers against your mouth. "Can I?"

"Yes," you breathe back. There's a quiet voice, a little nagging feeling in the back of your head that says that this is a bad idea, doing this will be an irrevocable step in your relationship, but as Haechan slides one, then two, fingers into you, all you can do is throw your head back and lose yourself to the feeling. He works your body like he's known it for years, stroking in, out, in a languorous rhythm that has you keening, gripping his hair for dear life, as warm pleasure snakes through your veins. Opening your eyes, you're surprised to find him looking intently at you, lips parted, almost like he's getting off on your reactions. He increases his pace, fingers stroking even deeper and at just the right angle. You see stars as he presses a third finger into you, while also stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb. Leaning forward, he captures your lips again, swallowing your moans, before moving to kiss up your neck. Shivers wrack your already hyper- sensitized skin as he breathes softly across the shell of your ear, while continuing to finger you. With one soft nip of your earlobe, you're coming hard, moaning as your body clenches around his slick fingers, your body trembling as white-hot pleasure rolls through you. "That's it," Haechan whispers, kissing your neck softly as you shiver ands shake against his touch. "Just let go."

When it's over, you both stand still for a moment, breathing hard. Then you open your eyes, to find Haechan staring at you, head tilted to one side. Looking down, you see the very obvious tenting in his pants, and reach for him, but he shakes his head. "I'd rather not have our first time be at a club, when we're both drunk off our asses. But consider this a taste of what we'd be like together."

With one last, lingering kiss, Haechan pulls you off the sink, pushing your panties back into place and reaching to retie the lacings of your dress - when had that come undone? As he washes his hands, watching as slick strings of _you_ seep down the drain, cold reality starts to set in. You just kissed your best friend. More than that, you kissed him, he admitted his feelings, then gave you one of the most mind-blowing orgasms you've ever had, all while your anger at your dance partner floated at the back of your mind. Lordy, maybe Jaemin was right when he said your life was becoming a drama.

Haechan pauses in the act of opening the bathroom door. "By the way," he says. "I saw the way you were looking at Jeno. I hope this was enough to get across whatever point you were trying to make. But just know...I will never play games like that. Not with you, not ever." 

And with that, he leaves, closing the door softly behind him. You stand, dumbfounded, for moments afterwards, the strongest thought thrumming through your head is, _what have I done?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which you deal with the ramifications of the night at the club and make an unexpected friend.
> 
> Note: Seulgi and Ten are scaled down to only a year or two older than Jeno/Reader (21-22ish currently)

“So responsive.” Jeno’s hand is rough as he yanks on your hair, pressing his lips to your exposed throat. You whine as he bites down, sucking dark marks into your skin as his hand trails down your thigh. His index fingers slips under the lace of your panties, and he chuckles softly. “So wet. Do you get like this when we dance?”

His finger circles around your sex, teasing but not sinking deep into you like you want. “Did you get this wet at the club, kissing Haechan while I watched?”

You bite your lip, hating how your body responds to his touch. “Jeno, if you’re just going to talk and not fuck me...” your words are cut off as he covers your mouth with with his own, fingers slipping into you. He bites down on your lip as he begins to thrust, long fingers rough, merciless. They stroke you right to the edge, before suddenly withdrawing. His other hand grips your shoulder, fingers digging in. “Jeno-”

“No, it’s Jaemin.” The hand on your shoulder shakes again, a little harder. “Get up, we’re going to be late.”

Your eyes flash open. Sitting up, too fast, you clap a hand to your forehead as a wave of hangover pain shoots through your brain. Jaemin stands over your bed, wearing a black hoodie and a bemused expression. In his hands is a bottle of Gatorade and a granola bar.

“Is that for me? Good,” you say, grabbing the bottle and gulping down nearly a third. 

“That was my breakfast,” he whines mildly. “But, you look like you need it more than me. What happened last night?”

You press your fingers to your aching temples, fractured bits of memory coming to you from last night: the neon pulse of the club, Jeno’s maddeningly calm face, Haechan's fingers inside you...

_And you’d just woken from a very graphic dream about Jeno._

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. You pad across the floor to your closet, pulling on sweatpants and a practice leotard. “What happened with you and Nakyung?”

Now it’s Jaemin’s turn to look uncomfortable. “I tried to find her, I really did, but Heejin said she was in the bathroom and refused to come out. So...”

Your eyes drop from his reddening cheeks to his collar, where you can just see the edge of something purple. “NA JAEMIN,” you whisper-yell, not trying to wake up your suitemates. “I told you to apologize, not hook up with the closest available vagina on legs.”

“Would it help if I told you it was Heejin?”

“NO,” you say, grabbing the granola bar from him and stuffing into your mouth as you stomp out of your room. “I really hate you men sometimes, you know that?”

“All men? Or just Lee Jeno?”

“What? This isn’t about Jeno,” you say, practically sprinting down the dorm stairs, Jaemin keeping pace. 

“Sure it’s not,” Jaemin says. “And that’s not his name you were moaning in your sleep.”

You stop dead, and Jaemin is forced to grab the railing, to stop from slamming into you. “Jaemin, if you ever tell anyone else...”

“Relax,” he laughs. “I won’t. But seriously, I’ve got a bet going with Hendery. He thinks you’ll fuck by the end of the semester.”

“And what do you think?”

“My money’s on Haechan,” Jaemin says, giving you a gentle push to keep walking.

“Why’s that?” you say, fighting to stay calm as you walk out onto the street. _Did Jaemin see you last night? Or worse, did Haechan tell him?_

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “If you can’t see it, you’re an idiot. Also, he's always bringing you up in casual conversation. It’s annoying.”

“And you’re delusional,” you say, though your heart beats a little faster as you think of last night. _He confessed, but also went along with you using him_ , _what does that mean?_

Jaemin holds open the door to the ballet studio. “Well, if you ever have to choose between them, just remember who woke you up so you wouldn’t miss rehearsal. And let you eat their breakfast.”

“Duly noted.” You walk over to the lockers, plopping down onto a bench and pulling out your pointe shoes. “Just do me a favor, don’t talk to me today? I don’t need to give Nakyung another reason to hate me.”

"Aye aye, captain.”

Despite your slight rejuvenation from the Gatorade, warmup is an absolute shit show. Nakyung comes in late, eyes red and bloodshot, and instead of taking her usual place next to you on the barre, stands as far away from you as possible. Haechan looks relatively unruffled, holding court on the male side of the room as usual, but carefully avoids your eyes. Much as it hurts, you really can’t fault him for that. You’re not exactly sure what you would’ve done if he came and basically sucked his face off like that, then let you jack him off in the bathroom, but if he’s being honest about his feelings, he probably feels like shit now. 

To your slight relief, Jeno isn’t there, but his presence has been replaced by yet another person you don’t want to see. “Hello all,” Ten says. “This is Kang Seulgi, she’s a recent graduate of Nijinsky, currently dancing for the Royal Ballet. She’s here today to observe, but I happen to think she’s one of the best dancers to come through here, so if she has any tips for you, please listen. All of us, I think, could learn a thing or two from her.”

Seulgi blushes, waving modestly. Your body zings with annoyance, but you swallow it as you finish the warmup. Dressed in a simple black knit top and jeans, hair loose and minimal makeup, she exudes the kind of confidence that you only wish you had. Mix in the fact that she took nearly all your roles for the last few years and seems to be one of the people closest to Jeno...

By the end of rehearsal, you’re practically sweating from the effort of dancing hard. It’s not _entirely_ because She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is sitting in the corner, keeping a critical eye on where the principals are rehearsing (Jeno’s understudy, a tall, faelike boy named Hyunjin, standing in for him), and by the time Ten calls time, your legs are shaking, toes feeling like they’re about to fall off. Limping to the bench, you sit down and begin unlacing your pointe shoes. 

“Hi.” You look up, and are met by the soft, moonlike face and doe eyes of Kang Seulgi. “You’re the dancer playing Odette, right?”

You nod, and tell her your name. “You’re not new, are you?” her voice is genuinely curious, without malice, but it grates your ears anyway. “I’m awful with names, but you do look a bit familiar.”

“I’ve been here for a few years,” you say, pulling your jacket out of your locker. “But I was in the corps, you wouldn’t know me.”

“A corps to a principal in just a season? I’m impressed,” Seulgi says. “You know, I’d love to chat about the show a bit, maybe talk technique a bit, would you maybe want to grab a cup of coffee?”

You look at her, at her stupidly perfect hair, that stupidly perfect face, that stupid, friendly smile, and wonder what would happen if you said no. “Sure. I know just the place.”

Ten minutes later, you’re sipping a matcha latte, wondering how on earth you came to be sitting across from your ex-rival in your favorite café, with only two mugs and a plate of macarons to separate you. 

“So, I was watching your form,” she says, taking a dainty bite of cookie. _Fuck, even her eating is graceful._ “You have a lot of raw talent.”

You grimace, although it sounds a lot nicer coming out of her mouth, as opposed to Jeno’s. “I think they chose you rightly for the role,” she continues. “The right mix of grace and power, of soft and hard lines. Your partner, he really complimented your movements quite well.”

“Oh, Hyunjin’s the understudy,” you say quickly. “Lee Jeno is playing Siegfried, but he wasn’t in today.”

“I know,” Seulgi says, a small smile on her face. “Jeno and I are - were - close, actually. But what I was going to say is, you and, ah, Hyunjin fit together almost perfectly. But I know Jeno’s style, and I can see why you two have been having some trouble.”

“He told you we were having trouble?” You can feel heat creeping up your cheeks. Are you really so bad that Jeno is complaining about you to his ex? 

“No, I actually haven’t spoken to Jeno in a while,” she says, taking a sip of tea. “Ten mentioned that he had you two doing individual practice sessions, and that he hoped you’d warm up to each other a little, increase your compatibility.”

You took a long sip of your latte. For some reason, the idea of him telling Seulgi about your sessions bothers more than Ten thinking that the two of you need to “warm up.” An image of Jeno, sitting in a cafe like this one, feeding her a cookie while complaining about your dancing ability flashes through your mind.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you say, twirling an Earl Gray macaron between your fingers, phrasing what you say next very carefully. “Ten mentioned that you and Jeno and he used to be very close. Almost like a dream team, the way he put it. Was that your experience, such cohesion between costars?”

Seulgi takes another bite of cookie before answering. “Yes, and no. Ten and I, we came in around the same year, and were pretty much always cast as leads together. Jeno, I didn’t meet until Giselle, but we were close.” A distant expression appears on her face. 

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to go into it,” you say, guilt beginning to prickle in the pit of your stomach.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I should be able to talk about it, after all this time. We were together, but it all kind of fell apart after the show ended.”

“Because the show ended?”

“No, for other reasons,” she says. “Jeno is a...complicated guy, as I’m sure you know. If he likes you, he likes you a lot, but it’s sometimes hard to get him to open up. He’s very sweet, very kind, but he can be kind of grumpy and hard to deal with sometimes.”

“Don’t I know,” you say, shaking your head. “I thought he was going to kill me the first time we met, when I bumped into him and spilled some things from his bag.”

Seulgi laughs. “Let me guess, probably some pens and a poetry book?”

“How did you know?”

“Because I know Jeno, he’s such a little emo,” she says. “Always carrying around poetry books, always wearing a mask.”

_You know, I've heard a lot about you, Jeno, but being a presumptuous emo dick wasn't one of them. You want wolf? I'll show you wolf._

Your own words come echoing back to you, and suddenly you feel the macaron being crushed under your fingers. “Is he really that nice, once you get to know him?”

“I’ve never met someone like him,” Seulgi says, eyes tender. “A person who’s so kind, so caring, but also has that focus and intensity. He’s going places, and I only wish...”

You chew the inside of your lip. She clearly still has feelings for him, and the revelation sends little ants of discomfort marching up your skin. She has every right to be hung up on him, and if Jeno is caring as she says...

“I think I may have met the wrong Jeno,” you say. “These days, he’s a bit of a sourpuss.”

You mean it as a joke, trying to diffuse the tension, but Seulgi shifts uncomfortably. “There is something, probably a big reason why he is the way that he is right now,” she says quietly. “I tried to be there for him at first, but he’s been difficult.”

You take a sip of your latte. By her tone, it sounds like it’s something more serious than a lover’s quarrel. “It’s not something serious, right? Like, something Nijinsky should know about?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” she says, with an airy little laugh. “No, it’s personal, nothin to do with me or the school. Sorry, I got a little bit dark there, don’t worry about it.”

Picking up a matcha macaron, she nearly stuffs it whole into her mouth. “So, about your steps, there were just a few things I saw...”

As you lapse back into talking about dance and techniques, you can’t help but feel like there’s more to the story than she’s letting on. _What could possibly have turned Jeno from the warm, happy boy she described into the callous, tattooed fuckboy who seems to have it out for you?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think Jeno's secret is? Comment below & we may in the next chapter.


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